


The Bucket List

by Baileylang



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Radio, Blow Jobs, Bucket List, Cancer, Famous Harry, Hospital Radio, I Want To Write You A Song, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Radio, Radio Presenter Harry, Sharpie Tattoos, Songwriter Louis, Tattoos, Tea, last first kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baileylang/pseuds/Baileylang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis didn’t believe in forever. Well, he did but when his forever was about the length of this football season and it was already April it wasn’t much of a stretch. And he definitely didn’t believe in miracles because if they existed he would be a world famous rock star and Doncaster Rovers would be top of the Premier League.</p><p>Louis decides to have one last weekend before the end and he works through his bucket list with an unsuspecting boy he meets in the tea shop at the hospital. </p><p>Harry is the hospital radio volunteer who got more than he bargained for when he invited the cute boy in a beanie up to hear his jingle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> From this prompt:  
> "Nothing lasts forever
> 
> I thought about one of them has cancer (or they both do???) And they meet at the hospital. Maybe one of them broke their arm, or leg. They talk for hours, and when the one who doesn't have cancer (unless you have them both be cancer patients) has to leave, they exchange numbers. Maybe they have both been invited to a hospital event, and they sneak off, and they can either just talk, or give each other their virginitys. The next day, they get a call that the other passed away that night peacefully in their sleep."
> 
> I hope the prompter is ok with the way I have tweaked the prompt. As you can see the major character death is not my fault...
> 
> Pinch hitting for this was fun, it is my first fan fiction but not my first work of fiction.
> 
> Hospital Radio is a very British thing, many hospitals have a volunteer run radio station that is piped to each bed. Many radio presenters start their careers here as you can get good training and experience. It is fun, it can be very political and it can be heart wrenching. Harry's show might or might not have been based on something I know well...
> 
> The studio at The Chelsea and Westminster is as it was in the early 2000s, I know it has changed since then but I took artistic licence. 
> 
> The Chelsea and Westminster is the hospital where Sliding Doors was filmed if you need to visualise it.
> 
> As always, this is a work contains fictional representations of real people in situations that have not occurred in real life. 
> 
> This is a work of my own creation. Please do not reproduce/repost without permission.

Louis didn’t believe in forever. Well, he did but when his forever was about the length of this football season and it was already April it wasn’t much of a stretch. And he definitely didn’t believe in miracles because if they existed he would be a world famous rock star and Doncaster Rovers would be top of the Premier League.

The real kicker was he didn’t even look that ill. A bit on the skinnier side, maybe and since they’d given up on the chemo his hair had grown back even though he preferred to keep to the beanies he’d been wearing for the past year.

He wandered down from the ward to the café on the ground floor of the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. He pulled the arms of his sweater over his hands, hiding the hospital bracelet, pretending for a brief time that he was there to visit someone and not as a patient.

“White tea,” he ordered as he leant against the counter and watched the flow of people going about their days. 

On a Saturday in the late afternoon it was a bit less crowded than during the week. On a weekday he would watch the lumbering pregnant women waddling to their neonatal appointments. They would glow with hormones and the new life inside them.

Louis found he had to look away from their bright hopeful faces. It hurt too much.

“Thanks mate,” he took the cardboard cup and grabbed a stirrer. 

He found a seat tucked under the staircase and dipped the tea bag in and out, eventually squeezing it between the stirrer and the side of the cup. He fished it out and left it on the lid.

He could’ve gone to the Starbucks next door. Then he would have felt even more like just a member of the general public but their tea sucked. Maybe he’d save it for this evening when the rush of visitors in the wards reminded him that this weekend he was on his own.

Mum and Dan had gone away for the weekend for their wedding anniversary. Lottie was in charge of the girls. 

“We can postpone it,” his mum had said, chewing her nails as she’d sat on the uncomfortable chair next to his bed.

“Its fine, the lads will be in.” Louis had smiled as he reached over to knock her fingers out of her mouth. It echoed the numerous times she had done the same to him over the years.

Mum and Dan had done too much postponing over the past eighteen months for newly weds. They needed to stop putting things on hold for him.  
So he hadn’t told her that the lads were all busy. Stan had his PhD dissertation oral to prep for, Liam was away for work now he was in his dream job in music production and Zayn. Well, Zayn hadn’t been around since Louis’ last and final diagnosis. 

That was the thing with illness; it sorted the wheat from the chaff. People either stepped up or they stepped away. He didn’t blame Zayn. Hell, Louis wasn’t sure how he would’ve been if it was the other way round. 

Having a mate who only had months to live kind of puts a downer on the whole ‘making plans for the future’ sort of thing. And Zayn and him had dreamt big. There was the travelling they should’ve started eighteen months ago after finals. But the day they should’ve been on the plane to Australia, Louis had been puking into the toilet of their shared flat as the first round of chemo burned through him. 

And the only music Louis was working on was from his hospital bed, writing songs on his portable keyboard, automatically saving them to his hard drive and leaving them there to fade away like his time.

At first Zayn had been by his side taking selfies with him while he wore a pink ice hat that was supposed to stop his hair falling out. Zayn had even wielded the clippers and then the razor when it became apparent that giving himself brain freeze whilst ingesting toxic chemicals hadn’t worked.

Louis knew he could look through Instagram and see their selfies gradually fall away to nothing. He’d heard from Liam that Zayn had a record deal. Bully for him.

No. This weekend Louis was on his own and he was going to pretend he was just a visitor. He wasn’t ill. He would be around to see who won the next season of X Factor, shouting abuse at Simon, and to watch the next World Cup where he’d shout abuse at every referee that ruled against England. He was going to grab this weekend by the balls.

He sipped his tea and adjusted his beanie. Of course, it would be better if he actually left the hospital to do some ball grabbing…

Someone knocked his table with their full backpack, tea sloshed over the sides of the cup.

“Oi, watch it,” he said as he grabbed the cup but not before most of it was on the table.

“Oops, sorry.” The voice was deep and Northern. It drawled.

Louis moved his chair back to try and stop the tide of tea from dripping off the edge of the table and onto his jeans. 

“Here, let me.” A large hand clutching napkins came into his line of sight. Most of the fingers had chunky silver rings on them.

Louis looked up; a curtain of curly brown hair covered ring boy’s face, which was a pity. 

It was unusual to get hipsters this far west, he thought. 

He looked back down at the hands again.

Were there teddy bears on that ring? Louis found himself leaning closer to see and almost got a mouth full of tea soaked paper.

“I’m sorry.” There was a trace of panic in the low drawl.

“No worries, mate,” Louis said, “was thinking of going to Starbucks anyway.”

“No, let me get you another tea here. Starbucks tea sucks.” 

Louis looked up again to find that the curly hair was now tucked behind pretty ears.

Holy crap on a biscuit!

Louis wasn’t sure he could breath. Ring boy was pretty. Very very pretty with a jaw line that Louis wanted to take bites out of.

Maybe he’d already died and he was in his version of heaven. Harry Potter got Kings Cross Station and Dumbledore. Louis got The Chelsea and Westminster and an angel. He was definitely winning.

“Yeah, sucks,” Louis breathed out as the boy’s head turned to look straight at him.

Louis wasn’t sure if the sudden racing heart and the weakness in his legs was from the disease that was killing him or from a suddenly re-emerging sex drive having a last hurrah.

Big green eyes blinked back at him, full pouty lips bitten pensively.

“So how do you take it?” The angel asked letting his lips pop out from between his teeth. They shined in the harsh hospital light.

Louis wanted to taste them. How did he take it? He’d take it anyway he could, variety was the spice of life.

Yes, hormones definitely having a last gasp weekend with him.

“Your tea, how do you take it?” 

“Oh, white no sugar.” Louis could feel his neck burn.

“Can I leave this here?” the boy gestured to the backpack that had almost taken the table out.

“Sure.” Louis said.

Leaving the bag, Ring boy walked to the counter, his legs long in skinny jeans that looked vacuum packed to him. Louis figured that as a dying man it was his god given right to ogle the perfect handful of a bum that wiggled as he walked.

They said that you should enjoy all the little things when your time got short didn’t they? And Louis always appreciated a tight arse.

He hummed as he took in the hip that was cocked as he got to the counter, he smiled as he took in the slightly pigeon toed slouch. He let his eyes travel upwards.

One eyebrow was raised over green eyes looking back at him.

Fuck. 

Louis’ felt his face burn. He’d been busted.

He looked down at his hands, making sure his sweater covered them. He clenched his fists in the material.

“Tea.” There was a trace of laughter in the deep voice now. 

“Thanks,” Louis was glad he didn’t stutter.

“Can I join you?” 

Louis couldn’t help but look up and see a smile tugging at the corner of the boy’s lips. A dimple flitted in and out of view on his cheek as he stared at Louis, almost daring him to smile back.

There are times when you make a decision that changes your life. Louis felt as if this was one of them. Not that there was much life left to change. Nothing should feel more momentous than the grim reaper peering at you round the corner, waiting, but this felt on a par. And had the potential to be much more enjoyable.

Should he?

He tightened his sweater further into his hands. This had been what he wanted, hadn’t he? To have a normal weekend and pretend he had a future? Maybe it wasn’t so much taking life by the balls as growing a pair.

“Go ahead, knock yourself out.” He said before he could change his mind. He pushed out the chair next to him with his foot.

“Hi, I’m Harry.” The hand was back in front of him, although not the one with the teddy bear ring.

Louis let go of his jumper and shook it back, glad that the bracelet was on his left wrist. His hand was engulfed in heat. Harry’s hands were bigger than his in both width and length, the rings pressed into his fingers.

“Louis. And thanks for the tea.”

“No need to thank me, my fault the last one was ruined.”

They smiled at each other before Louis ducked his head and went through his teabag squeezing routine again.

“So who are you visiting?” Louis asked it carefully as he tipped the bag onto the lid.

He hoped Harry wasn’t going to say his partner or his new baby. Because one, that would be definitely disappointing and two, make him a creep because Louis was getting flirty vibes.

“Oh, I’m not visiting, I’m a volunteer at the hospital radio station.” Harry said and lifted the cup to his mouth and sipped.

So that was why a hipster was this far west, Louis thought. Probably bringing hipster indie music to the sick and poorly of West London.

“On a Saturday afternoon, Harold? What did you do wrong?” 

And suddenly Louis felt as if the last eighteen months had been nothing but a bad dream. That he was that bloke again who flirted with pretty boys in coffee shops. Who lost themselves in dreaming of kissing them in dark corners of clubs. Of waking up tangled in sheets, lazily making love on a Sunday morning.

He could be that bloke again, even just for a brief moment?

“Hey,” Harry said, his mouth pouting. “I asked for Saturdays. I figured I’d have time to muck up without anyone noticing. And I can’t do the evenings in the week because I have a really early start in the mornings.”

“I was just kidding, love,” Louis found himself reaching out a hand to place on Harry’s. The grey wool from his sweater almost dipping into the used teabag, until Harry quickly moved it out of the way.

“Can’t get tea on that after I spent so much time trying to keep you stain free.” Harry said.

They smiled at each other; then Harry looked down to his cup.

“What sort of music do you play on your show then? Obscure Indie crap that sees off the patients and clears the wards fast? The NHS’ secret weapon?” Louis joked.

“Well,” Harry’s ears went a shade of red. “Country music?” 

“Are you asking or are you telling me?” Louis replied, he could feel his lips trying to smile. 

Really, this ‘too cool for school’ man played country music to sick people on a Saturday afternoon?

“Telling you?” Harry looked up through his hair, which was falling in front of his face.

Louis couldn’t help it; he started laughing.

“I’m sorry, Harry, really. But I just can’t see you playing Taylor Swift to the Lord Wigram ward. Maybe the golden oldies show at a push, all original vinyl and Rolling Stones. But country…”

“Well I’ve banned Taylor Swift as she isn’t proper country,” Harry said as he ruffled the front of his hair and flicked it back, touching the ends of his curls absently. Louis wanted to know what it would feel like wrapped round his fingers.

“Ok, so I used to play just a standard Top Forty type show, you know, and I was going through a Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash stage in my throwback section. Then the station manager asked whether I’d do the country show as no one else wanted to. And well… you see radio is my thing, and erm they promised me my own jingle.” Harry rushed out.

That was it Louis lost it and bent over laughing, slapping his thigh.

“You sold your musical soul for a jingle, Harold? The youth of today.” Louis reached over and couldn’t help himself but take his right forefinger and poked it into the dimple in Harry’s cheek.

“It is a very good jingle, Louis.” Harry tried to look affronted but he was grinning to widely to be able to pull it off.

“It better be the best jingle in the world for you to play country and western.” Louis said.

“It’s called country music, Lou. No one has called it country and western since the seventies.” Harry rolled his eyes. “And how can you diss Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash? They are gods of music, Louis. Gods!” Harry’s hands flew up as he talked.

“Calm down, mate. I’ll give you Johnny and Willie.” Louis tried hard not to snigger as he realised what they were euphemisms for.

“Oh will you?” Harry winked at him.

And the spark and heat in his stomach that had been there since Harry had knocked into him zipped through him more strongly, burning him harder than chemo had.

Harry was flirting back.

“If you play me your jingle, maybe I’ll think about it.” Louis sipped his tea, looking up through his eyelashes at Harry. It was one of his go to moves. Had been told enough times that he looked sinfully innocent doing that.

“Well if you want to some up to my studio,” Harry waggled his eyebrows at him.

Louis snorted into his cup.

“Smooth move, Harry. Smooth. Is it just to hear your jingle or are you going to show me some etchings as well?”

Harry’s laugh exploded out of him as if by mistake. He clasped his hands over his mouth and looked at Louis with wide eyes as it echoed and bounced up the atrium.

Louis lost it again and his raspy laugh tangled with Harry’s, it echoed all the way to the ceiling of the hospital where their voices rattled against the sculptures that hung there.

 

“Is this where you bring all the boys?” Louis was leaning against the wall next to the studio door hoping that Harry couldn’t see his legs shake.

He hadn’t done much exploring of this part of the hospital. The studio was tucked away on the top floor right by the furthest lift bank. He watched with his arms crossed as Harry fumbled with the combination lock on the door. 

“Only the cute ones.” He said back as the lock clicked and he pushed the door open.

This was so on. 

And suddenly Louis knew what he wanted. He wanted a bucket list of last first times. His last first kiss. His last first blow job if he was really lucky.

“Calm yourself, Harold. You are being a bit obvious.” Louis brushed his shoulder past Harry’s chest as he walked into the room hoping his legs would hold, but making sure that his hips swung and made his arse bounce.

That was one thing to be thankful for. No amount of chemo could rid him of the junk in his trunk.

The studio was a collection of four rooms, a tiny outer office that Harry passed into a larger room with a table, cubbyholes, shelves and a battered desktop computer and dusty flat screen. Two doors led off this room, above one was a red light, currently off. The other seemed to have cabinets for IT equipment.

"I see no etchings," Louis said as he grabbed a chair from the table and sat down quickly. 

Harry hadn't wanted to wait for the lift and climbing five flights of stairs had turned Louis' legs to jelly. He hated that his body could carry on betraying him. The body that had easily run up and down a football pitch for ninety minutes and then go on to a club all night. Maybe he'd have to revise his weekend plans.

He looked up to see Harry grinning at him from the door.

Or he could just pace himself.

“Haz!” 

Louis jumped knocking his knee into the table.

The door to the studio was open and a peroxide blonde bloke stood in the doorway.

“Niall.” Harry went and hugged him.

Louis liked the look of Harry’s hugs; there was no ‘bro’ shoulder bump. He engulfed the other man and brought him in tight. Now, he just had to work out how he could be on the receiving end of one of them.

“Whose your friend?” The blonde man had a very strong Irish accent and having extricated himself from Harry was smiling at Louis.

“Niall this is Louis, he’s going to be my co-host this afternoon,” Harry said with an arm slung round Niall’s neck. “I spilt his tea downstairs so I thought it was only fair.”

“Oh so this is a treat is it?” Louis asked.

“It’ll be grand, Harry knows his stuff. So what are you in for?” Niall asked.

And like that Louis could feel real life starting to encroach on his fantasy. Harry had accepted him as just a random bloke at the teashop and now with Niall asking what he was in for he was going to have to decide. Tell the truth or lie?

He looked at Harry who was still grinning down at him, his face bright and open. There wasn’t a hint of pity or sadness anywhere on it. It wasn’t clouded by the scarcity of time. And he didn’t ever want to see Harry like that. He only wanted the dimples, smiles and, if he was lucky, to see Harry’s face screwed up and overcome with want.

“I’m visiting a mate, but he’s got a tonne of visitors so I was waiting for the herd to thin before going back up again.” Louis let the lies slip off his lips with ease.

“Grand,” Niall said and darted back into the studio. “Let me queue up the next song and then Haz you can let me know how the interview went?”

Harry dropped his backpack on the table and started pulling battered CDs out of it. 

Louis picked one up.

“Does Radio One know you’ve been stealing from them?” He said waggling a Shania Twain album at Harry. 

There was a bright yellow sticker claiming “Property of Radio One – Do Not Remove’ which was peeling slightly plus a barcode on the case, and across the paper insert was a stamp saying ‘promotional copy’. Louis could see that all the CDs spilling out of Harry’s bag had the same stickers and more than half also said they were promo copies.

“They let me take them, they don’t need them anymore and so I brought them in.” Harry was arranging them into piles.

“Harold, CDs are so twentieth century,” Louis said as he started picking through the pile.

“Well, yeah. But this way we can rip them onto the database here and then we have them. Better than having them being chucked out at work.” Harry smiled over at him even though Louis knew he was ruining all Harry’s little piles.

Hold on. Work.

“You work at Radio One?” Louis’ hand stilled on the battered Tim McGraw album in front of him.

“Yeah,” he could see that Harry looked a little red and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m an intern at the moment on the Breakfast Show.” It was the quickest Louis had heard him speak.

“Bloody hell! That is…” Louis wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

How was he here in a studio with someone who was obviously on the fast track to radio stardom?

“Yeah,” Harry looked up, a shy smile on his face.

Louis couldn’t help but smile back. Harry knew what he meant. 

He wasn’t sure how long they were there staring and smiling at each other, Louis felt as if the world had stopped and he suddenly had infinite time in front of him. That he would always be here smiling at this dimpled angel. Yeah, that having died and gone to heaven feeling was getting more and more real.

“So the interview?” 

Their bubble popped and time started rushing past him again as Niall came back into the room.

“So, well...” Harry was fidgeting with his rings.

“And, spit it out Styles.”

“I start as the late night presenter on Saturday’s on BBC Six Music next month.” 

Louis could feel happiness welling up in him like a bubble. How he could feel like this for someone he’d known less than hour? But he could because this is what a future looked like. This was the beginning of Harry’s dreams coming true. Harry’s future was unfolding. And behind the bubble of happiness there was a wrench in Louis’ stomach. Despair that he might never get to hear this curly haired man make his debut.

“Ah mate, that is amazing.” Niall was wrapping his arms round Harry. “So proud of you, man. I knew that Grimmy would pull through for you.”

“We should celebrate,” Louis wasn’t sure why he said it. Harry might already have plans.

‘Yeah,” Harry said.

“You stay here, I’ll go raid Tesco’s across the road for some booze. What can I get you, Niall?” Louis barrelled on ignoring the sensible part of his mind that told him drinking wasn’t exactly on his prescribed list of activities from his consultant.

“I’d love to, Louis, but I’ve got plans tonight, next time definitely.” Niall said.

“Of course,” Louis lied as if there would be a next time. “Curly, what’s your poison?”

“You sure, Lou?”

“Of course, wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Anyway I’ll need to get you at least slightly tipsy so you can tell me all the gossip about Grimmy and the pop stars you’ve met.” Louis found himself winking at him.

He was a cliché. A cheesy cliché. How the hell had he ever managed to pull before?

“Surprise me,” Harry winked back.

Ok. So maybe this boy was a fan of cheesy clichés… obviously all that country music had rotted his brain.

Before he could rethink his idea, Louis got up. Glad to feel that his legs were a bit more solid under him. 

“How long until you kick off?” Louis said as he headed for the door.

“Thirty minutes,” Harry replied. “I came in early for prep, get the playlist queued up.”

That was good, he thought. He had enough time to head to the ward and warn them that he would be taking off for the evening. They’d give him shit, tell him it wasn’t sensible but what could they really do? Strap him to the bed. At least by warning them they wouldn’t phone the police if he wasn’t back.

“I’ll go and say goodbye to my mate, grab the booze and then I’m yours for the night,” Louis lied as he backed out the door.

He hoped that the small intake of breath from Harry when he’d said that he was his wasn’t a figment of his imagination. And maybe he heard the beginning of a squawk from Niall that sounded like ‘someone’s getting lucky’ before the soundproof door closed behind him.

 

The bottles clinked in the bags he was holding as he waited for the lift to arrive. Louis couldn’t stop his foot from tapping. It had taken longer than he thought to sweet talk the matron to allow him out. Not that she had allowed him, more like threw her hands up in exasperation, and gave him his vial of medications to take with him.

“I’m done with worrying about your sorry arse, Tomlinson.” She’d said.

“No one has ever been sorry about this arse,” Louis had answered slapping his behind and then turning to jog slowly out before she could change her mind and call security.

He’d raced as fast as his traitorous body could through the small Tesco Metro, throwing in some crisps to soak up the booze. He never used to be a lightweight but things changed and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk alcohol. 

The lift arrived, Louis checked the time on his phone. He had maybe three minutes before Harry was on air. He hustled in and groaned when he realised it was stopping at every floor. 

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath. 

Why was it that time was always playing with him? Too slow when he needed it fast. Fast when he needed it to slow down. 

He burst out of the lift and hurried to the studio door, banging on it, he could see Harry through the glass in the door and then through the massive window that looked into the studio itself. 

Harry’s was wearing a big pair of headphones and had his head down.

Bloody soundproofing. How was he going to hear him?

As if he’d read Louis’ mind, Harry lifted his head and grinned at him. Next thing he knew, Niall was opening the door and ushering him in.

“Great meeting you, mate. Have fun with H, be gentle with him and I’ll catch up with you next time, yeah?” Niall said as he went out the door with a wink.

“Sure, later.” He said without thinking how much later it would be.

“Hurry up, Lou.” Harry called and without thinking Louis went into the studio, bag clinking.

Harry sat behind the desk that had faders all over it and a computer screen and keyboard on it. A microphone with pop shield hung in front of him.

On the other side of the desk from Harry were four chairs, two more mics and some headphones in various states of decay.

Harry motioned for him to take a seat, so Louis did. Cautiously he picked up a set of headphones automatically keeping his sweater over his left hand to keep hiding the hospital bracelet.

Through the headphones Louis could hear some woman giving the weather forecast. He watched as Harry frowned and kept his eyes on a countdown on the computer screen. Then as the woman finished Harry pressed a button, a jingle announced that they were listening to Channel Fourteen, Radio Chelsea and Westminster and with another press of a button there was a scream of guitars and a song kicked in.

Harry motioned for him to take off his headphones.

“You came back.” He said smiling.

“Of course, as if I’d miss hearing your jingle. And I hope that wasn’t it because you were conned, mate, not even a name check…” Louis replied.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry said. “I was saving that until I saw what sort of booze you bought. Can’t give it all up too fast, I’m not that kind of boy.”

Harry was a dork. A flirtatious, Dalston Junction-esque dork. God, he hoped he was at least a little bit of that kind of boy.

“Ah, then you’d better get that jingle all queued up, H, because I’ve surpassed even your expectations.” Louis said as he picked up the carrier bag and rattled it at Harry.

“We have beer, wine, a soupcon of tequila with appropriate fruit and condiments.” Louis took out the cans of beer, bottles of wine and tequila plus limes and salt as he spoke. “Plus the piece de resistance…” And he pulled out the bottle of chilled champagne and small plastic glasses.

“Bloody hell, Louis.” Harry’s eyes were huge. “You shouldn’t have. This is…”

Ok it was too much. And if Louis was in an ordinary situation he would blush in embarrassment at how over the top this was, but he was grasping life’s balls as hard and tight as he could. If this was the last hurrah, and he knew it was, then he was going big or down in flames.

“Hey life’s too short, go big or go home.” He said as he stripped the foil from the cork unable to look at Harry in case he gave himself away.

“Yeah, absolutely. Hold on…” Harry said. Louis looked up to see him slip his headphones on. Louis fumbled his back on whilst still holding the bottle.

Harry put his finger to his mouth and with the slide of a fader he started talking.

Well. Shit. 

If Harry’s voice sounded good in real life through a microphone and headphones it was at another level. The musician in Louis could appreciate it for the growl and roughness and he wondered what he would sound like if he sang. But the man could only think how it would sound whispering close in his ear like it was through his headphones. What Harry would sound like telling Louis how great he felt, how good he’d make Louis feel. How he loved…

No. Not that.

Louis found himself shaking his head and trying to tune into Harry’s actual words.

“Hey this is Harry Styles and welcome to this week’s Big Country. I’ve got an hour of some of the best country music from this week’s hits to, of course, my choice of the country hits and misses from all your yesterdays.”

The words flowed from his pink pouty lips like molasses and dripped into Louis’ ears like they held the meaning of life. He could spend the rest of his life sitting here just listening to Harry talk. 

Harry licked his lips as he took a breath.

Or he could spend the rest of his life kissing him. Louis found himself licking his lips in response and his fingers smoothed the foil on the top of the champagne bottle.

“Urm…” Harry’s smooth flow faltered.

Louis looked from his lips to find Harry staring at his hands his mouth open.

“Yeah, so this is… erm…” Harry looked panicked and turned to the computer screen. “Kenny Chesney and Noise.” He pressed a button and moved the fader down.

“You are a menace.” He said waving a finger at Louis, the flush on his cheeks making him look beautiful.

What? 

Then Louis realised what his hand on the champagne bottle had looked like. Maybe just maybe he could add extra shenanigans on his bucket list.

“I don’t know what you mean, Harold. I was just opening this bottle to celebrate your new job. Dirty boy.” He said as he popped the cork from the bottle and smiled.

The froth fizzed up and out of the bottle and onto his fingers.

He sucked them whilst staring back at Harry daring him to say something. Harry stared back and Louis watched as he swallowed.

 

About an hour later, Louis and Harry were giggling from the almost whole bottle of champagne they’d drunk. Harry’s ability to speak and announce artists was getting greatly impaired. He looked like a debauched cherub, all pink cheeks and curls, Louis thought.

“Shush, Louis. I have to be profesh… professional.” Harry leaned over and pressed his finger to Louis’s lips. 

Louis couldn’t help himself; he opened his mouth and bit it gently, his tongue taking a small lick. Harry tasted of tea and champagne.

“Huh,” Harry breathed out and his face went slack.

Louis sucked on his finger before letting it pop out of his mouth. There was a resounding silence in the booth; he thought maybe it was because his ears had stopped working from seeing the want on Harry’s face.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Harry’s voice was deeper than before.

He scrambled to get the next song playing. How long had there been dead air while Harry had stared at him?

“I still haven’t heard your jingle, Haz. And you’ve almost had a whole bottle of champagne.” Louis decided to let off tormenting Harry for at least a moment.

“I’m not sure you deserve to hear it after distracting me.” Harry tried to frown at him but couldn’t stop from smiling. Dimples warring with crinkled forehead.

“Not very professional if someone like me could distract you…” Louis fluttered his eyelashes. 

The warmth from the alcohol and from this attraction was filling his body, coursing through his blood, wrapping round his bones. It wasn’t dissimilar to the path that the chemo had taken, but instead of poison this was passion. It lifted him up instead of dragging him down. He’d pay for it tomorrow or the next. But what was the point of being safe and hoarding his time anymore? This what he needed to do, fill himself to the edges with life, fleeting as it was.

“This is the last song, then I’m going to concentrate on getting you back, Tomlinson.” Harry said.

Getting him back? Louis shivered at what that might entail.

Harry winked and before the last song played, a jingle started. Another man’s voice spoke over some jangly banjos. 

“Start your Saturday night’s here at Channel Fourteen with Harry Style’s Big Country. Go Big Harry style.”

Then the jingle segued into Kenny Chesney singing ‘You and Tequila’.

“Holy crap, Hazza. That is cheese-tastic.” Louis could only be thankful his mouth was empty because otherwise he might have ruined the very expensive equipment.

“Its fabulous isn’t it.” He grinned.

“That was truly worth the tea spillage and champagne, young Harold.” Louis raised his glass and downed the last of the champagne.

“But the real question is…” Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly as Louis paused. “Two Kenny Chesney songs in one hour? Have we a little crush, Styles? Is there something you need to confess?”

“I think good things come in small packages…” Harry looked Louis up and down as he said it. 

His face burned as Harry played him at his own game. He needed the tequila.

“Is there no one taking over from you?” Louis asked as Harry signed off and went to the news on the hour.

“No, it now goes onto an automatic playlist until tomorrow lunchtime.” Harry said as he pressed a few buttons and powered down the desk.

“So we have the studio to ourselves for the rest of the night?” Louis asked.

Maybe this could work. He could persuade Harry that they could hole up here with the booze, it was safer than venturing out of the hospital but private enough that no one would bother them.

“If we want…” Harry stared at him.

“Just need to make it a bit more comfy, maybe?” Louis replied.

God, he had to be on the same page, didn’t he? He wasn’t imagining it all?

“Comfy’s good,” Harry said pinching his bottom lip. “There are beanbags in the outer office.”

“And I know where they keep the spare linen,” Louis said. 

Was that too forward? Maybe not with the grin that Harry was giving him.

“Meet you back here in ten?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded vigorously.

Louis launched himself out of the door bouncing off the doorframe as the champagne had made him clumsy. He had to think fast, which was difficult as the alcohol was hitting his system harder than he’d expected. Pillows and blankets were definitely needed. Should he bring his keyboard? It was a cliché to want to sing songs for Harry but he could feel new ideas bubbling on the fizz from the champagne. Maybe he could stick it in his backpack?

Sneaking back onto the ward he grabbed his bag and stuffed his laptop and keyboard in it from his locker. He stripped the linen from his bed bundling it into his arms and, thanking his lucky stars that the nurses’ station was unmanned, he went to the trolley grabbing two more pillows and a few more blankets.

He wasn’t sure how he avoided security and staff but he was back at the studio without being stopped.

He knocked on the door and Harry let him in.

“How the hell did you not get caught?” Harry laughed.

Louis threw the mound of pillows, sheets and blankets on the floor.

“I have advanced ninja skills, young Harold.” Louis winked and set to work building them a nest.

“OK Louis, you know everything about me, what about you?” Harry asked as they lounged back on a pair of beanbags and smothered in blankets, their legs were touching.

“Not much to tell,” Louis shrugged hoping to deflect any questions from anything that didn’t deal with this moment, this weekend.

“Well what do you do?” Harry asked.

Crap, he was going to have to lie again. He couldn’t say he had been off work for eighteen months because he was dying. That would kind of negate the reason for this whole weekend. But he could bend the truth somewhat.

“I have a day job working in admin for a building firm.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d had a student job during the holidays doing basic admin work for Dan’s company. “But I really want to work in music.”

And that was the truth. If things had been different, if one or two of his cells hadn’t gone rogue and mutated, he might have been where Zayn was now.

“What sort of job in music?” Harry had propped his head on his hand and was watching Louis with a sweet and slightly hazy smile.

God, his lips were made for snogging.

“Writing mostly. Maybe performing but that sort of thing is a bit hit and miss. Also don’t fancy going back in the closet just for a chance at fame, you know?” Louis quietly outed himself, although with the amount of flirting going on he wasn’t sure he’d needed to.

Louis snagged the bottle of tequila.

“Shots?” he waggled it at Harry hoping to distract him.

“I think you’d make a great pop star,” Harry said. “I’d be your number one fan.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, now shots, yes?” Louis said.

After three shots, they were lying more horizontal. Harry had the radio streaming through the speakers into the room. Louis wasn’t sure how his legs had ended up in Harry’s lap. And he definitely didn’t want him to stop stroking his ankle.

“Lou, do you wonder what you’d do if you were only given a few months to live?” Harry said after a few minutes of quiet.

Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.

Louis felt his body lock up. Had his hospital bracelet come free? No, the sleeve was still over his hand.

“What the fuck? Morbid much.” He hoped it came out normally or that Harry missed the high-pitched squeakiness or his tension.

“Its something I’ve thought about quite a bit,” Louis clutched the neck of the bottle of tequila and stared at Harry’s profile as he spoke. 

When his body unclenched he’d drink again, which hopefully would be sometime this evening.

“Any particular reason?” Louis asked.

“I think volunteering here has made me realise that you need to live life to the fullest, you know?”

Ha. If only Harry knew how much Louis really did know about that sort of thing.

“I mean take the Six Music job. Last year I would never have had the guts to go for it but there was this kid, Abby, see, who I used to visit on ward rounds when I did the request shows. God, Abby was the funniest kid ever. Loved her. Always wanting to do stuff, had a list of things she wanted to do and people she wanted to meet. One of them was Grimmy, I managed to get him to come in and she was so happy. It made me wonder what I’d do with little time. So…” Harry’s voice faltered.

Louis thrust the bottle into his hand.

“She didn’t make it, did she?” he said.

Harry looked at him, tears hanging from his bottom lashes.

“No.” he said.

“Hey, love. I’m sorry about your friend. But hell, she got to meet Grimmy, a strange request on a bucket list but whatever floats your boat, hey.”

“True.” Harry took a swig from the bottle, his face screwing up as he swallowed.

Louis took the bottle back from Harry.

“So do you have a bucket list, Lou?” Harry’s voice was rough with tears and tequila.

Shit. How did he say this was his bucket list? That he wanted one perfect night of last first times?

“I kind of have a last first time list,” Louis said and took a swig of the tequila relishing the burn in his throat.

“Last first times?”

“Yeah, so if I knew I’d only have a limited time left I’d want to have a perfect last first kiss.” Louis mumbled it into his sleeve as he wiped his mouth from the tequila.

“Awww Lou, that’s romantic.”

“Shut it, Styles. I’m just saying…” And here was the perfect opportunity, if he could just grow a backbone. “So if I was lying here with only a few weeks left, then I’d lean over.” Louis tried to match his actions to his words.

Bloody beanbags, it clutched him and wouldn’t let him up. He waved his arms around trying to get leverage to lean over and snog Harry.

“Lou, Lou, you look like a dying ant, waving its legs in the air.” Harry had collapsed onto his side and was laughing.

“Help me, you idiot, I’m trying to prove a point.” 

Did he laugh or cry? Smooth, Tomlinson, real smooth. He could feel his face burning but whether from exertion, embarrassment or a surfeit of booze he didn’t know.

“Lou,” Harry sounded like he was choking on laughter.

“Bugger,” Louis put an arm over his eyes. So much for his bucket list, once he got out of this bloody chair he would leave.

“Hey,” a hand came and rested on his shoulder. “Look at me,” Harry said and moved Louis’ arm away.

The light bounced off rings, Louis noted and brown curly hair fell in a curtain across his face. He tried to look anywhere than into Harry’s eyes. 

“Is this what you’d do?”

Holy…

Louis’ mind stuttered as soft lime and salt flavoured lips touched his gently; the graininess of the salt slightly rough on his, before dissolving. He glimpsed Harry’s eyes before he let his own flutter shut. Louis couldn’t help but part his lips on a sigh. Harry pressed closer. How did he know the perfect pressure? How did he kiss exactly the way Louis liked? He was sipping at his mouth, dipping in and out, teasing.

“Mmmm,” Louis sighed as Harry drew back. 

“Is that what you had in mind?” Harry asked.

“A bit like that, but to complete the full bucket list, it would have to be last first make out session…” Louis said and opened his eyes with difficulty. It felt perfect to be lying back with this beautiful man hovering over him with his lips shining from Louis’ kisses.

Louis reached up to Harry’s head to bring him back down. There was a scratch and a pull from his wrist to Harry’s hair.

His wristband was caught in Harry’s hair. The arm of his sweater had fallen back. Shit.

“You ok?” Harry moved back wincing as his hair was pulled.

“Yeah just give me a second.” Louis reached up and gently untangled the hair, pulling up his sleeve to cover the tell tale bracelet again. “I think my sweater wanted to keep a piece of you,” he joked hoping Harry was drunk enough to realise that it didn’t make sense.

“It wants the full make out session too, huh?” Harry leaned down again and whispered it against Louis’ lips. “Well it’ll have to wait because I need to take a small comfort break.” 

Harry pushed back up with ease and stood over Louis.

“Hold that thought and I’ll be right back.” He left quickly while Louis’ hands were still half up trying to grab for him.

Wow.

Louis could still taste the tang and sting of lime and salt on his lips. If this was all he got, if Harry came back and didn’t want it to continue then it was still worth it. But it definitely wouldn’t continue if he didn’t get rid of the damn wristband.

There. Louis spotted a pair of scissors in a tub of pens across the room near the old computer. Now he just had to work out how to get out of the beanbag.

With a very undignified roll onto his hands and knees he was up and staggered across to getting the scissors.

Should he be doing this? He was technically a patient and wasn’t supposed to remove it until he was discharged. If anything went wrong and he was without it people might not be able to work out who he was and what was wrong in time. And the whole point of having signed that Do Not Resuscitate order would go out the window. 

But if he kept it on… Harry’s face moving from flirtatious and attracted to pitying and sad flashed through his mind.

Did that overtake the idea that he could be brought painfully back when his body had given up the ghost? Just to eke out more time in pain? Negate that whole fight he’d had with his mother, where she’d cried that he was giving up. 

He cut the bracelet off and tucked it in his back pocket. Last first make out session was not getting cut short; he’d deal with the fallout tomorrow. Surely he was owed one piece of luck?

He collapsed back onto he beanbag as Harry came rushing through the door. He threw himself at Louis.

“Oooof,” Louis said as he was covered in hipster boy. Luck seemed to be going his way.

“Now where were we?” Harry whispered and kissed him.

After months of his body letting him down, his own blood having turned to poison, it was amazing for it to be working for him at last. As if for one brief night everything was working in synchrony. Well, he supposed, a broken clock is right twice a day. Maybe this night was his body’s version of that.

Louis’ heart sped up, his hands roamed over solid muscle and bone that flexed and pressed on to him. Warm hands slid up under his jumper, leaving goosepimples in their wake. The last time hands had roamed over him they had been cold and professional. They had been checking for how sick he was, for where it hurt. 

But these hands, so personal, he felt like he was being worshipped. As if he were being mapped for a memory rather than a medical chart.

“Oh god, Louis…” Harry’s voice whispering in his ear was better than he’d imagined.

He wanted more, he clutched at Harry’s back pulling him closer.

What would it be like to have this every day? Harry would be moving slowly down his body and nipping at his neck? Waking up engulfed in his arms? Because that is what first kisses were about, they opened up possibilities, new endings as much as beginnings. If he had a future there was a myriad of potential stories being written from these first kisses. Would this be a one-night stand, tomorrow morning waking up covered in regret? A brief one-month relationship where they burned in bed, only to burn out when they realised they had nothing in common? Or in six months time they were bickering and the chemistry had left them or until they morphed into best friends? Or the possibility that Harry was the one, wedding bells, matching rings and forever vows…

Because in this moment Harry was all those futures; Louis’ ex and Louis’ husband. Like Schrodinger’s cat they existed all at once but only while Louis’ pretend that he had a future.

Louis’ eyes prickled. He couldn’t cry. No, too many tears had been shed and would be shed but not here, not now. The only salt would be from sweat and tequila shots. And he would pretend that Harry was his forever.

“I want…” Louis’ voice was raspy.

“What, Lou? Anything.” Harry said as he licked and kissed the dip in Louis’ throat.

“I need to see you,” he couldn’t help rolling his hips up into Harry’s revelling in the feeling of being aroused and the hardness of Harry against his thigh. 

He needed to see. Needed to touch and taste. Need. Need. Need. It filled up all the empty spaces left by his illness.

Cold air was suddenly in place of Harry’s warm body and then there was creamy white skin and black ink in front of his eyes.

“Oh…” why was he surprised? Of course Harry would have tattoos. Birds swirled over his collarbones; a butterfly alighted on his stomach. He had one arm empty but for an eagle and the other full of different designs; an anatomically correct heart, a rose in full bloom.

“Why do you have a naked mermaid on your forearm?” Louis traced her with his finger smiling as Harry’s skin ruffled in its wake.

“I like her,” Harry said as he pulled at the bottom of Louis’ sweater.

“Come on, Lou. Want to see you too.” 

“Can we turn off the light?” he asked, suddenly shy.

There was enough light coming in from the windows looking over the atrium to see each other by but it would be softer, less harsh, than the fluorescent light. It would cover up his pallid skin, the bones that now pushed out slightly when before they had been covered in muscle.

“Ok,” Harry pushed up with ease, chest muscles clenching and releasing.

Louis was going to die right here, he thought, as his heart sped up at the sight. Well, die sooner anyway.

And then suddenly they were in shade, the light coming through the studio window. Harry knelt down between his legs, his arms on the floor by Louis’ shoulders.

“Lou?” he asked.

What did he have to lose?

Goddamn these beanbags. With difficulty he got his sweater up and over his head, just missing punching Harry with his fist.

There. 

Oh God, he hoped Harry wasn’t disappointed.

“It is what it is?” Harry asked reading the tattoo Louis had inked across his collarbones; a brief touch of a finger following the letters.

“Yeah, seemed profound at the time,” Louis said closing his eyes against the burn Harry’s touch created. No need to say that those words he’d tattooed when he’d been in remission, thinking nothing could phase him had come back and haunted him when he was given his final prognosis.

“Come on, tattoo tracing can happen later,” and Louis pulled Harry over him again. He sighed at the feeling of Harry’s warm body against his.

Counterpoint to the murmur of music that came over the speakers there was the whisper of skin against skin; the rustle of clothes, the hiss and groans as they rolled and pushed against each other.

“More,” Harry moaned in Louis’ ear.

Louis wasn’t a selfish person, always one to give someone what they want especially if he want it too, he cupped Harry’s groin and squeezed gently. 

“Yes. Yes.” Harry said and then pressed more kisses into Louis’ mouth. 

Surely he could have more if Harry was up for it? He wanted more, oh how he wanted. He hadn’t let himself want in so long and this was something just for him. Well for them.

Louis wasn’t sure how he did it but he managed to manoeuvre Harry on to the other beanbag and with a bit of a fight to settle himself over him. He reached for the button of Harry’s jeans as he licked, kissed and nibbled his way down Harry’s neck.

“Uh Lou?” Harry panted.

“Want to feel you, want to taste you,” Louis knew he was moving fast.

“Bucket list, yeah?” Harry laughed and then squeaked when Louis kissed his nipple.

“Yeah, last first blow job and all that,” Louis said then blew on the nipple making it pop up.

“If this is your hypothetical bucket list shouldn’t I be blowing you?” Harry asked as he arched into Louis’ mouth as he moved lower.

“I thought we’d share it, sharing is caring after all,” Louis looked up from where he was crouched over Harry’s belly button.

Harry looked glorious, hair spread out around his head like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Face furrowed in pleasure.

“Oh, well if that is the case,” Harry wiggled his hips, the top of some leafy tattoos flirting at the waistband of his jeans.

“Actually I’ve always wanted to be crowned with laurels,” Louis said as he undid the jeans and pulled them down to Harry’s knees.

“Hail Caesar.” Harry said, his hand cupping Louis’ face.

Louis wanted to laugh until he pulled down Harry’s briefs. Beautiful and big. His mouth watered in anticipation.

The last time, he thought, make it count.

“Et tu Brute,” he whispered as he licked the head of Harry’s cock.

Harry’s laughter bounced off the walls until Louis’s swallowed him down and it morphed into moans.

Louis lost himself in the silky velvet feel of it on his tongue, the heat and the hardness. Then the salty musk taste of it and the push and pull of his lips on Harry’s skin. He used his hands to cover the parts his mouth couldn’t reach, twisted and cupped and tickled. Riding the undulating waves of Harry’s body as he reacted to every touch. Harry’s finger gently moving his fringe out of the way and so when he looked up he could see Harry staring down at him like he was a fantasy come to life.

“Lou, I’m gonna…” was the first words he could properly make out from the muttering that Harry had been making since he’d started.

He held down Harry’s hips as they stuttered upwards and sucked and twisted harder. There was a pulse and then he tasted Harry, coating his mouth. He swallowed it down.

“Oh god, oh god.” Harry was saying as he petted Louis’ head. “Get up here.”

Louis scrambled up his body, cock hard in his jeans. Maybe he could grind himself on one of Harry’s thighs?

“I can tasted me,” Harry said after he’d kissed Louis and turned what little was left of his mind to mush.

Louis was shaking; his arms wouldn’t hold him over Harry. He was so full of want. Want and need and…

“Let me,” Harry gently turned him on his back. 

Louis couldn’t think, it was all sensation, Harry’s mouth on his chest. Hi tongue licking his nipples, teeth biting down to his belly. Cold air as his jeans and briefs were pulled down and then heat and wetness. Pressure and release and the prettiest lips wrapped round him. Green eyes watching him fall apart.

This, oh this.  
Stars exploded in his head, he couldn’t stop his hips from chasing Harry’s mouth. He shut his eyes against the beauty of it all and let it all go.

“Ngmmff” was the only thing he could say when he started thinking again.

The chest he was lying on shook with laughter and long arms clasped him tighter.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Harry said.

“Meh,” Louis whispered as he kissed the nearest bird to his mouth.

So maybe they would’ve been more than a one-night stand, he thought, if they lived in another universe.

 

“And this one?” Harry asked as he circled the ‘78’ tattooed on Louis’ pec. 

They were sharing tattoo stories, any excuse to carry on touching each other. The tequila abandoned for a shared can of beer.

“My grandparents lived at number seventy eight, I used to go there after school every day when my mum worked,” Louis said as he tried to choose which one of Harry’s he’d ask about next.

“Would you have more tattoos on your bucket list?” Harry asked making circles around Louis’s chest.

If only the doctors would sign off on it and not worry about infection, he’d have been at the nearest tattoo studio in a flash. That and if he had someone to tattoo things with because…

“It would be a couple’s tattoo,” Louis ducked his head into Harry’s neck, he was pathetic but he’d never had that, knowing that another person meant so much to you that you made them a permanent part.

“Really? You’d link yourself with someone else as part of your bucket list?” Harry asked.

“Well if it was a bucket list I wouldn’t be linked with them for very long now would I? Really Haz.” Louis licked his neck because he could.

“What sort of thing were you thinking? A tattoo of their face?” Harry said as he made more space for Louis to do things with his neck.

“Shut up.” Louis moved his face away.

“No tell me. Lou. Tell me.” Harry followed him and started pecking kisses all down the side of his face that he could reach.

“Idiot. It would be like a half a heart or something, maybe their name.” Louis said.

Because they would always have the other half of him, he’d still live on inked on someone else’s skin.

“That’s really lovely,” and Louis worried for a moment that he had said everything out loud but Harry was just reacting to the idea. “Lets do it.”

What? They couldn’t just get tattoos?

“There is a Sharpie over there, we can give ourselves Sharpie tattoos, hypothetical tattoos for a hypothetical list. Yeah?”

Even as he said it Harry was getting out from the nest of blankets and sheets that he’d made for them while Louis had been recovering from having the bext last first blow job ever. And at some point he’d obviously stripped them both. 

Harry’s bum was even more beautiful naked.

“Here, you go first.” Harry came back holding out the pen for Louis.

“Are you sure?” 

“Go on.” 

Who was this man? Happy to let a complete stranger wreck his body within hours of meeting them and then letting them draw all over him all for the sake of what he thought was a hypothetical bucket list.

Hand shaking slightly, Louis reached up and drew an inch tall jagged edged half a heart on Harry’s chest. Underneath it he signed his name, maybe for as long as the ink lasted, Harry was his and Louis was Harry’s.

Harry craned his neck to see which side of the heart Louis had drawn.

“That looks great. My turn.” He said.

He grabbed the pen and pushed Louis down flat. Harry frowned as Louis felt the light brush of the pen over his heart. Every so often he would peer down to make sure he was making them match.

“We need a photo of this,” Harry said as he wrote what must have been his name under his drawing.

Louis each pen stroke as a tear in his heart. This beautiful man was scooping out his insides and he didn’t even realise it.

Harry grabbed his phone, and the light as he opened Instragram illuminated the studio. Louis could see their two chests side by side on the screen as he heard the shutter. Somehow they were lying so that if need be the hearts would fit perfectly together. Harry’s name was written in black on his chest like it belonged there.

It will be there till the end.

Louis knew it was morbid but if he made sure to touch it up then it was very likely he would be cremated with it. Harry’s till death us do part.

And then there would be a photo commemorating it. It was almost as good as the real thing in this pretend world he’d created for himself.

“You’ll have to send it to me,” he said as he tried to ignore the faint shadows round his ribs that made him want to hide.

Bloody hell, he shouldn’t have said that, he couldn’t leave ways for Harry to find out the truth. 

“Cool, you ok if I share this on Instagram?” Harry was fiddling round with the filters, making the photo black and white, not paying attention to Louis’ panic.

“Honestly, Haz tell me you live in Dalston Junction because no one could be this hipster outside of hipster central.” Louis relaxed and kissed his shoulder as he said it to lessen the sting.

Harry threw down his phone and turned into Louis’ arms. Pressing his half a heart to Louis’ chest.

“Hackney Downs…” he whispered as he kissed Louis.

 

“Alright, Styles. Bucket list question again, what big radio related thing would be on the list? Taking over the Breakfast Show? Kicking Grimmy to the kerb? Or maybe taking over from Whispering Bob on his country show?” Louis asked, his head pillowed on Harry’s shoulder as they waited for Louis’ laptop to load up his pirated copy of ‘Captain America: Civil War’.

If he wasn’t going to be alive when it was released then he figured he got a free pass on illegal downloads.

“Eurovision,” Harry said leaning his head against Louis’.

“Really?” Louis turned to look up at him.

“Really, I mean it is an institution and following in the footsteps of Terry Wogan and Graham Norton. The tackiness of it, the political voting system, the snarky comments I’d get to make. It would be fabulous.” Louis could feel Harry’s smile against his hair. 

“I can’t see you making rude comments about some weird Georgian woman’s outfit. I think you’d feel too sorry for her.” 

“Hey, this is a hypothetical bucket list it doesn’t have to be achievable.” Harry kissed the top of his head.

No tears. No matter how much hearing the words ‘hypothetical’ and ‘achievable’ hurt. Because it was neither in Louis’ world

“What about you, Lou? What would be the top of your list?”

You. Harry. The namereverberated in his head and down through his spine until it was echoed in his fingers and toes.

“I mean, would you want a number one or something?” Harry continued not realising that Louis was ringing like a bell in his arms.

“I suppose,” Louis said and then coughed, as he felt short of breath suddenly, overwhelmed. “I’d like to hear a song I wrote on the radio one day and if I happen to be singing it that would be even better.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harry whispered in his ear then he nibbled it, sending electric shocks to follow the path of his name.

 

Louis woke to tickle of a melody in his mind. Lyrics winding their way through it, nudging him to get up and capture them before he forgot. He burrowed closer into Harry’s back, his nose deep in his hair.

I want to write you a song

The lyrics echoed his desire. He wanted to write Harry a song about what this night had meant for him because even if this was a one-night stand in reality, in Louis’ ticking timeline, a night meant forever.

Quietly he untangled himself from Harry’s arms and wrapped a blanket round himself like a toga. Harry mumbled in his sleep and then cuddled down further into the beanbags. Taking his laptop and keyboard he went into sit at the desk in the other room. 

Sometimes Louis found writing a song hard; bits and scraps hard won and he needed weeks or months for it to sit and find its way to completeness. And then he found there were other, rarer, times and he wrote them as if they were already written and had been waiting for him to play them.

Half an hour. How the hell had he managed to write this in half an hour? But there it was melody and lyrics captured. It was a snapshot of the night, a bit of Louis’ soul. He wanted to record it and leave it for Harry.

Scrambling around on the desk he worked out how he could record through the mixing channels to his laptop. Pulling the microphone towards him, flexing his fingers he pressed record then let himself find the keys and he lost himself in the music.

 

Pressing a kiss to the half a heart on Harry’s chest, Louis stood over him fully dressed. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, covering the tattoo he’d drawn.

He took a deep breath to try and stop the tears he could feel in his throat only to find it caught short and rattled in his chest. The pain pulled at his lungs.

Crap. He’d felt this before. And he’d almost not made it through the last time. Bloody pneumonia. Drinking and not taking his meds wasn’t going to have helped. He needed to get back. Time had stopped standing still; and there were some new bits of business he had to take care of before he could bow out.

Oh, his beautiful boy, he thought as he stared down at Harry.

He had lips that pouted in a kiss even when sleeping, Louis couldn’t help himself, he leant down and tasted Harry for the last time.

“I could’ve loved you, Hazza. Thank you for forever.” He whispered and quickly turned and left before he gave into temptation and wrapped himself round Harry never to let go.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part Two

He was bloody stupid. He knew it. And if he’d had the guts to tell anyone they would tell him the same. Stupid.

Harry stood by the teashop on the ground floor of the hospital hoping he’d see a flash of pretty blue eyes and a fringe of caramel hair poking out from under a beanie.

Louis wasn’t here.

Harry was stupid.

His heart dropped for what felt like the millionth time since he woke up alone early Sunday morning. He’d been wrapped in blankets that smelt of tea, tequila and Louis, his lips sore from kissing, little bite marks over his stomach and a Sharpie tattoo. He touched his chest quickly with his fingers.

Yeah, he should’ve washed it off instead of washing round it and he shouldn’t have carefully been touching it up every morning so it didn’t fade.

It was foolish to think Louis had wanted him to keep it. But there had been something; he’d felt a spark, which was more than lust. It had felt like a new beginning, or maybe he’d been merely drunk on champagne and tequila and kisses from a beautiful man.

He took the stairs two at time trying not to spill his drink, holding his side where the stitch was starting when he got to the fifth floor. Hurrying in case he missed Louis waiting at the studio door. He rounded the corner. 

No one.

He fumbled with the security lock bursting into the room.

But there was no smiling man cuddled in the beanbags. There was no one looking through their eyelashes as they sipped a cup of tea.

Fuck. 

Harry grasped his chest as if he could feel the half a heart burning into his skin. He was a fool.

“Hey mate,” Harry looked up to see Niall standing in the doorway.

“Hey Niall,” Harry said he tried to smile but he knew from Niall’s face he hadn’t been successful.

“No Louis, then?” Niall asked. 

He’d been the recipient of Harry’s excited ramblings about his Saturday night and also the only one who knew that Louis hadn’t been in touch.

It wasn’t as if Harry was hard to find. He worked for Radio One, which Louis knew, and he was the only Harry Styles there. His bloody Instagram was his name and the last photo posted on it was their couple tattoo. Harry was still getting shit about that from pretty much everyone and had to swear to his mother that he hadn’t eloped with a man before she’d met him.

But if Louis had been there on Sunday morning and asked him to, Harry wasn’t sure he would’ve said no.

A week later he was frustrated and angry and pissed off that he’d never found out Louis’ last name or got his number.

“There’s a letter for you in the post tray,” Niall said pointing to a white envelope.

Harry dropped his bag on the ground and took a swig of his coffee. The bitterness matched his mood. It would take some time before he wanted to drink tea again.

He went to the tray and his heart sped up. He recognised that writing. He had a sample of it on his chest. 

Harry Styles was printed in black Sharpie. 

Louis must have dropped it in.

With a shaking hand he reached out and picked it up, the envelope was light but rattled.

Harry fell into the nearest chair. Louis hadn’t forgotten him. Maybe it was a clue to where he could find him once he’d finished his show.

He shook the envelope and a thumb drive, a hospital bracelet and a letter fell out; he grabbed the letter and unfolded it, smoothing it flat.

Dearest Harold,

I’m sorry for leaving without waking you this morning. You looked so beautiful sleeping that I didn’t have the heart to disturb you. I did kiss you goodbye even if you don’t remember it.

Me, I’ll remember it forever. I’ll remember all of last night forever.

You see that bucket list we talked about isn’t really hypothetical for me. You really are my last first kiss, my last everything really. I didn’t want to tell you in person because I never wanted to see you look at me with pity or sorrow, or with that sideways tilt of the head, which everyone uses when they talk to people who are dying. I should know, I see it every day.

So thank you, Hazza, love. You made a dying man very happy. It was my last hurrah and I can’t be anything but grateful to have shared it with you.

I’m making sure they don’t clean your tattoo off me when I go, which considering I shouldn’t have been drinking or gallivanting last night could be soon. Bloody pneumonia is back and I’ve asked them not to interfere this time.

I’ve left a little something on the thumb drive for you. It is your song, which you didn’t even ask for. I’ve left a note to let everyone know it is yours to do what you will with.

The hospital bracelet is so if you need to ask about me you can.

I think I’ll love you forever, Harry, my beautiful boy. Thank the future Mr Styles for lending you to me for a time. He will be a lucky man

Always in my heart, Harry Styles, 

Yours sincerely,

Louis xx

“Hazza?” Niall came running into the room, which is when Harry realised that he’d yelped or screamed or something.

No. No.

“Hazza, you’re scaring me.” Niall crouched down next to him.

He didn’t know what to say. Louis couldn’t be gone. His Louis.

He was too alive, too full of mischief.

But maybe he hadn’t gone? Maybe he was still somewhere in this hospital, maybe he wasn’t too late. Louis had obviously written the letter last weekend. It could’ve been here the whole time and Louis could still be alive.

“Christ.” Niall swore.

Harry realised he’d read the letter over his shoulder.

“I have to find him, Niall. I have to.” Harry staggered to his feet and ran out into the corridor the hospital bracelet clutched in his hand.

Tomlinson, Louis  
Lord Wigram Ward

It said along with some codes. Harry raced down the flight of stairs and hit the doors of the ward flashing his hospital radio ID. He skidded to a stop at the nurses’ station.

“Hi, I was wondering is Louis Tomlinson still on the ward?” He was gasping for breath but he wasn’t sure that was from running or the tears that he could feel scalding his cheeks.

Harry had thought he’d had a broken heart before when his first boyfriend has cheated on him but he realised now that it had merely cracked or bruised.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said as she reached a hand out, her head tilted to the side in sorrow.

Harry’s legs went from under him and he slumped to the ground, put his head in his hands and wept.

It was his first night; his hands trembled as he adjusted the levels on the microphone. The BBC radio studio was dark and quiet as could only be expected for so late on a Saturday night.

This was everything he’d been working towards. All the hours he’d put in were worth it, he knew that, this was the dream. But people had been wondering why he hadn’t been smiling quite as widely as they thought he should, so he told them it was nerves.

He watched the countdown on the screen and took a breath as his own personal BBC intro jingle played. Nothing cheesy about this one.

“Hi, I’m Harry Styles and welcome to the new and improved late night weekend show on BBC Radio 6. I’m here to keep the monsters away if you can’t sleep and lead you from your wild weekend into a chilled Sunday morning.”

He took a deep breath, flinching slightly as the new tattoo on his chest pulled, his eyes burning when he thought of his half a heart mirrored by his new ink.

“And I’d like to kick off with a beautiful song by my favourite blue eyed boy, this one’s for you, Lou.”

He pressed the button to fire off the track and through his headphones came a raspy high voice over the delicate sound of a piano.

I want to write you a song  
One to make your heart remember me  
So any time I’m gone  
You can listen to my voice and sing along  
I want to write you a song…  
I want to write you a song… 


End file.
